In December of '08, the wife and I had yet another of our screaming fight/heartrending makeup scenes -- all in the space of two hours. Said drama, while irritating, portended neither the end of the world as we know it (God is entirely too displeased with me to do me a favor of that magnitude…) nor of the relationship. It was just a predictable consequence of Latin and Celtic tempers meeting head-on and engaging in the ultimate "communication breakdown." By the time the tears (and blood) dried, we'd effected a meeting of the minds (exposed grey-matter is especially conducive to that end, by the way) and renewed our commitment to a project that had long been a bone of contention between us.
Since there's no better way of letting bygones be bygones than hoisting a tankard at the local boozer, we did just that. A pint or two of Miller Lite and Bass Ale later; all was well with our world – for all that we waxed exceedin' dismayed over the fucked-up state of the world in general. (Waxin' exceedin' dismayed over the fucked-up state of the world in general is our favorite pastime, by the way...)
As we backed out of the driveway en route to the watering hole, I noticed a folded piece of paper taped to our mailbox. Aquiver with curiosity, I retrieved and opened it. Scurrying for the shelter of our pickup truck, (it was colder than a witch's tit that Friday), I perused the contents aloud, the better to share them with Mags. What I read was as hilarious as it was nauseating: an urgent bulletin from the homeowners association, summoning all and sundry to a pitchfork-and-torch session in defense of local property values – and the chiiiiiilllldren, of course.
As if I give a flying fuck about either – especially the latter.
The late W.C. Fields perfectly expressed my attitude towards children: "Go away, kid. Ya bother me."
Children are annoying, expensive, and an acute pain in the ass. If I had a dollar for every time some hyperactive crib-crawler made an already miserable flight doubly so by kicking the back of my seat; for every time some squalling brat's temper-tantrum upset my digestion (the very sight of an ankle-biter in a restaurant is enough to send me screaming into the night); and for every shopping trip upon which I've barely avoided colliding with some sticky-faced, skate-shoe-wearing, Ritalin-popping pork-pie, I'd be richer than George Soros (but less of a power-crazed, sociopathic, narcissistic baw'bag, I hope).
Beyond these (and other) glaring character flaws, children are – well -- nasty. They belch, break wind and pick their noses at inappropriate times and in inappropriate places – and they do so unconsciously. Situational context notwithstanding, they behave in ways that would shame a six-month-old puppy or kitten – but for no apparent reason. I can tolerate (nay, applaud) mooning, streaking, or farting into megaphones at politicians' funerals as forms of social protest. I can't, however, abide some rugrat mining for nose-gold while I'm trying to polish off an already unappetizing, extortionately overpriced wad of unagi.
The last straw for me, though, was when most Roswell bars banned smoking. Granted, children weren't to blame (they can't hold public office, thank God…), but no sooner had the ink on the bill dried than local parents began dragging their genetically blighted progeny with them when they went out on the town. Needless to say, this obnoxious trend took a king-sized corn- and peanut-studded shit on my riff. The few times a year I play (bar)fly on the wall, it's to focus my bloodshot, multifaceted yeën on the darker elements of the human condition – not to watch a veritable sounder of five-year-olds play tag amongst the stools and tables, upend the jukebox, or play Hyperkinetic Refined Sugar Power Rangers with the fucking pool cues.
(Beyond the "annoyance factor" -- if the Gentle Reader will pardon the digression -- I wonder what the fuck goes through whatever passes for their parents' "minds." Why would any reasonable person want to take a child to a bar in the first place? Is there some semi-secret timetable, according to which kids should be exposed to substance abuse, profanity, off-color humor, informal gambling, chemically induced/enhanced violence and casual sex by a certain age? And if so, isn't that why we have public schools? Just curious…)
"Well, l'il Brandon's nearly seven now, hon. And Brittany's six. I suppose it's high time he got into his first real knock-down, drag-out and scored a piece of ass. And she might as well learn to fend off Jarquecius 'Thunderbird' Washington and the local chapter of the Hog-Ridin' Rumpkins in the meantime."
At least there's still Mazzy's – thank Dionysus. A true bar in the best sense of the word, it's dim, smoky, cavernous, and has no shortage of dartboards, pool tables or interesting characters. Sadly enough, it's a near-anachronism in this sick, sorry, smoke-free, politically correct day and age; a game preserve for that most endangered of species, the North American Blue-Collar Barfly, with nearly all the features of its natural (and vanishing) habitat – and I'm glad it's that way. In short, the only thing missing is the hardwood floor – and the kids. It'll probably be a cold day in hell before I see any in Mazzy's – knock on wood. And have I mentioned that I don't like kids?
In addition to being killjoys (even if inadvertently), children are cruel. Whether pulling the legs off insects, tying cans to dogs' tails, or singling out other children for abuse and ostracism, rugrats' blood-thirst leaves mosquitoes, hagfish, leeches, chupacabras and Elizabeth Bathory's ghost pea-green with envy.
Hopefully, eight paragraphs of anti-rugrat invective have established that I ain't over-fond of the little bastards. When they get their collective shit together and take my quality of life into account, I'll reciprocate. But not a nanosecond earlier.
Quid pro quo, folks. Quid pro fuckin' quo. 'Nuff said?
This brings us to the matters of property values and the homeowners' association's call to arms. This degenerate, bastard descendant of the Anglo-Saxon folcmod -- like the degenerate, bastard descendants of Anglo-Saxons who authored it – didn't even bother to do its own dirty work. Pale and limp as a post-2006 necocon's dick, it simply flapped in the wind, hoping to be noticed. Mistaking it for some poor, self-employed slob's bid for work (and thus as a courageous act of defiance against the homeowners' association and a few draconian local and federal laws), I gave it the once-over.
By way of repaying my courtesy, it "gied me a scunner."
Apparently, the Fulton County Board of Education's latest redistricting scheme had tied many an upwardly mobile pecker in a knot, and placed many a nipped-and-tucked tit in the wringer.
Lest I appear too flippant or dismissive, I'll concede that in Alpharetta -- which faced the same problem – many parents were justifiably concerned. In a move nastily reminiscent of the '70s busing fiasco, the BOE planned to "fix what [wasn't] broke" by shipping children willy-nilly to schools miles away from their neighborhoods. In the cases of the Coventry and Gatewood subdivisions, both of which are within walking distance of Cogburn Woods Elementary School, this thinly disguised social engineering project was especially sickening: local children would be bused to distant Manning Oaks Elementary.
As is usually the case when treating with the government, obtaining the whys and wherefores required the services of the Delphic Oracle, a visit to Mimir's Well and a metric shitload (that's 1.2 Avoirdupois shitloads) of crystal balls, ouija boards, and tarot decks. Apparently lacking these resources, the local catbox liner (The Alpharetta-Roswell Revue and News) sent one of its intrepid staffers to chat with board member Katie Reeves.
According to the ARRN: "Reeves said the system's redistricting plan is based foremost on hard data, thereby removing arbitrary changes. Planning staff considers four primary criteria when drawing lines, then considers secondary criteria when a clear outcome is not present."
As the esteemed Ms. Reeves neither cited the "hard data," nor delineated the "primary and secondary criteria," her statement was – well – rather arbitrary, if not downright tautological: ("We use undefined criteria and unspecified data to prevent arbitrary changes.")
Thanks, sweetheart. That's ever so fucking reassuring…
Three more Reeves "gems" were especially noteworthy:
"We do not have a vote on the maps from the community, we have comments." (Translation: "Fuck you. We, the local government, know far better than you what's best for you, your communities and your children.")
"The Planning Department is making the maps –not me." (Translation: Don't bother me with this shit. It isn't my problem. I'm passing the buck.")
And I've saved the best for last:
"It is kind of a slap in the face to everyone who participated in the process to have a board member go in and change things."
Como se dice, "What the faaaaahck?"
Heaven forefend that any board member should receive even a slap on the wrist, let alone a slap in the face. No, in Katie's elitist world, the li'l duck feelings of silly, pretentious nabobs are far more important than the "petty" concerns of the parents whose children are the Almighty Board's lawful prey and property, to be disposed of as its members see fit.
Care to run that one by me again? Who, exactly, is slapping whom in the face? Jesus Christ! A psychologist could have a field day with that one…
"projection (prə -jĕk'shən)n. 7. Psychology. The naïve or unconscious attribution of one's own feelings, attitudes or desires to others." -- American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language
Having admitted that my own feelings, attitudes and desires parallel the Alpharettans' in this case, I'll turn my attention toward Roswell and the HOA's bulletin. Had the HOA voiced the same concerns, I'd have been equally sympathetic. Unfortunately, the "God-Bless-Our-Investment-doormat-crowd" chose hysteria and cheap shots, which I'll address in order.
Hysteria materialized as the dread spectre of plunging property values. Apparently, the fact that property values were already lower than snake-shit – nationwide-- somehow eluded this fuckin' "brain trust." Its members (who often remind me of the "member" danglin' 'twixt m' front pockets) are likewise oblivious to the fact that the laws of the market preclude perpetual growth as absolutely as the laws of nature forbid perpetual motion or free energy. When a house becomes a mere investment instead of a home, its "real-world" value fluctuates according to the laws of supply and demand. All investments entail risk, as a result of which some result in gain, others in loss. Houses are no exception to the rule.
End of fuckin' story -- and welcome to Economics 101.
Moreover, since all systems tend toward entropy (welcome to Physics 101, Heisenberg, Punk Rock and public schools…), the current situation was predictable. And does any rational person truly believe that redistricting will be any more detrimental than overbuilding (which began in the '90's with those jerry-built Torrey subdivisions -- each a slum waiting to happen), failure to keep infrastructure apace with growth, or the wholesale conversion of Crabapple Road to strip-malls and "assisted living" communities?
Pardon my Tocharian-B, but gimme a fuckin' break.
Having dismissed the hysteria as just that, I'll tackle the cheap shot – which I suspect is the heart of the matter.
Apparently, the HOA's real worry is the fact that ESL (English as a Second Language) students will be bused in from beyond the Alpharetta Highway "Pale." In their own words: "One of the options currently proposed would overcrowd our elementary school, bring a large number of ESOL [sic] (English as Second Language) students and significantly lower our property values." (Emphasis mine.)
Given local demographics, the HOA obviously doesn't mean the Hmong, the Amish, the Seminoles or Gaelic-speakers from the Outer Hebrides when it says "ESOL [sic] students." The cunts are employing a mealy-mouthed euphemism for "wetbacks," and we all know it.
Having no children of my own –and no reason to give a rat's ass about the local propaganda mill's ethnic composition, I've no idea (and once again; no reason to give a rat's ass) as to which kids attend which schools these days.
When I was a larva (a very, very long time ago), Roswell had 8,500 inhabitants and four or five elementary schools. Roswell Elementary took in the riff-raff from Frazier Street, Oxbo Drive and the tiny cluster of gub'mint housing off Oak Street. North Roswell Elementary served the MMC and UMC kids from Hollyberry, Saddle Creek, Northgate, Greenway Hills, Land O' Lakes, etc. – and the odd, mentally gifted cow from the farms north of Etris Road. Mimosa catered to LMC and MMC children from the Warsaw/Old Roswell Road area, and Mountain Park was the preserve of the insufferable snobs from Brookfield West.
(I haven't the foggiest notion of where the kids from the Dickensian/Swiftian world of Raintree and Martin's Landing went to school – if they did at all. Perhaps they attended hedge- or mission schools, or were sent off to workhouses to die of silicosis or brown lung. Perhaps they raided the RIF Bookmobile when not otherwise occupied by begging for bread in the streets or waylaying passers-by… Just kidding, of course -- the area east of GA 400 was "Indian Country" until I got my driver's license at seventeen, so I can't comment.)
As the population has since increased tenfold, I'm sure more schools have been built -- although I know neither where, nor who attends them. The elementary school nearest my house is Sweet Apple, on Crabapple Road – quite a walk from "Little Tijuana." If I'm not mistaken, there's another not far away, at the corner of Elkins and Hembree – although that one might be a middle school. Having (to reiterate) no children, I don't really care.
And speaking of not caring: I don't plan to sell my house, but rather to will it to one of my younger kin (or a deserving, decent family) when the Grim Reaper comes 'round for me. Therefore, its resale value is irrelevant. In a way, I might even benefit from lower property values, as they'd lead to lower property taxes.
You make your investments and I'll make mine, fellow citizens…
Leaving my "personal economy" (Thanks, Herman! I like that term…) aside, I'll return to the matter of the "ESOL [sic] students."
When I read the line aloud to Mags, who is both Hispanic and ESL (until the age of five, she spoke only Spanish), neither of us knew whether to laugh or barf. Since she's created more wealth than most of the HOA wankers could ever hope to, their half-assed, "Nazi lite" appeal to racial purity pissed both of us off.
"Heaven forefend, dear!" says I, "Next thing you know, they'll demand that we rent to the Irish, share our drinking fountains with Negroes, admit Jews to the Country Club, and allow tradesmen the use of the front door! The horror! The horror! Whatever is the world coming to?"
Now I'm the last guy on earth to bleat the "R-word " -- and with good reason. Nowadays, the term "racist" is utterly meaningless. In modern, real-world parlance, a putative "racist" is simply a Caucasoid who offends the "delicate" (Gwine shub mah fo'ty up da ho'bag a-yuss) sensibilities of his darker brothers. Should one truly suspect a recently arrived cabbie who reads neither his/her own native idiom -- nor an English-language roadmap -- of leading a rich, fulfilling intellectual and/or spiritual life, I'd invite said worthy to befriend the critter.
No takers? I didn't think so. And I think even less of using the "racist" tag to demonize personal tastes insofar as "acceptable" behavior is concerned.
"Racism?"
Please…
Ask a recently arrived Haitian Voodoo priestess not to change her kid's diaper on the salad bar at Ryan's, for example, and presto! You've just become a "racist." (Interestingly enough, my wife doesn't call me a "racist" when I get on her nerves -- she just calls me an asshole.) Furthermore, some of the most blatantly racist (in the old, literal sense of the word) behavior I've ever seen has been non-white on non-white. This neatly shit-cans several the left's cherished myths – unless one lacks sensory organs and a measurable IQ.
By now, I hope I've made it clear that I'm anything but a touchy-feely, multi-culti, starry-eyed pinko. I reject the asinine "villains & victims" model of history, for the most part. I don't buy into "cultural relativism," I don't believe we can "all just get along" (most of human history indicates otherwise), and I'm convinced that like good fences, good borders make good neighbors.
But this just takes the fucking cake. As nearly as I can tell, the HOA is upset over having Latin American kids bused in from nearby apartment complexes. They weren't, I note, reluctant to have these children's parents mow their lawns and paint their houses on the cheap. They didn't oppose the immigrant tide when it only lowered hourly wages and/or put native-born labor out of work. They turned a blind eye to the increase in crime and the decrease in quality of life – as long as neither impacted them directly. But the worm has apparently turned. Distraught at the prospect of li'l Brandi and Dylan rubbing shoulders with li'l Juanita and Enrique, they'd now deny the latter the "better life" they once assured us their parents were seeking.
Given the prevalence of Bush- and McCain-worship in this part of North Fulton, this isn't surprising -- just disgusting. It's one thing to tout the alleged "benefits" of diversity on the letters page of The Roswell Neighbor, and another entirely to experience it firsthand, it seems. Bluntly put: these opportunistic wankers would have applauded the abortive McCain-Kennedy amnesty coup – provided that their own little, lily-white ones could be kept away from Bush's "little brown ones."
Racism and hypocrisy rolled into one steaming package, unmistakably redolent of bullshit. I suppose they've somehow forgotten that "Family values don't end at the border." (And it's possible that they don't -- I'll ask the next vato I find loitering behind the bowling alley how he defines "family values" and then get back to you.) I suppose they've forgotten that our burgeoning immigrant community exists only to do "jobs Americans won't do," as our retardate of a former president incessantly reminded us. And I further suppose the HOA is a passel of fucking hypocrites.
Now hypocrisy is natural. No human being – including Yours Truly – is immune to it. Therefore, I exercise patience when confronted with the milder sorts.
My patience, however, ends at the border of principle and pragmatism. This brings us to the matter of illegals' alleged contribution to the economy. Until redistricting became an issue, the typical North Fultonite was content to parrot the Tweedle-Dee/Tweedle Dum party line: importing unskilled foreign labor benefits the economy, and diversity is our strength. How, exactly, large numbers of poor, semiliterate foreigners are good for the economy as a whole –especially given its current state – was never specified. As no one has yet explained how diversity will make us any stronger than Rwanda, Lebanon, Northern Ireland or Yugoslavia, I don't imagine it ever will be specified.
Accepting on faith that our annual $13,000,000,000.00 cash hemorrhage (most of which flows into Mexico) is, in fact somehow good for us, I'll return to the matter of our "guests'" contribution to the economy and add a little personal history.
Owing to choices I made twenty years ago (I sometimes regret reading Atlas Shrugged immediately after being dumped – but not that often…), I've been in intimate, daily contact with the 43% of the population that, according to various talk-radio luminaries (all of whom are quite popular here in North Fulton), doesn't pay income taxes.
Among this chunk of the Great Unwashed (bear in mind that 20% of the populace, as per the 2008 Time Almanac, is under 15 years of age and can't be expected to pay income taxes)
are many illegal aliens -- and some of the legal ones, as well. Granted, I'm the smartest redneck in the trailer park, but even my inbred neighbors understand that if these people use tax-funded social services without paying taxes themselves, they constitute a net drain on the economy. The HOA, however, didn't understand it – until redistricting reared its ugly (and melanin-laden) head.
So I'll leave it to them (and to Mort Zuckerman) to hash out, and stick to actuality, as opposed to the "reality" the neocons once claimed to create. I'm bound to trouble my beautiful mind in the process, but then again, patriotic duty has ever been a thankless task…
As my own earnings have never exceeded $25,000 per annum, barring one year in which a SWAG ("Scientific, Wild-Ass Guess") of an investment paid off 10:1 and kicked me into the next tax bracket, I honestly pity the poor, immigrant bastards; their children -- and the country as a whole.
My wife made seven grand last year, from which she paid 10% in federal income taxes. Just federal, mind you: this didn't include Social Security, Medicare or state income taxes. I made ten, from which I paid 11.1%, excluding the same built-in mordidas. (We don't just preach the simple life, by the way. We fucking well practice it…).
Unless the pundits are fibbing, nearly half the country – native and immigrant alike -- lives on $17,000 a year or less. Odd, as the total population is an estimated 299,330,000. That 299,330,000 is subdivided into 109,270, 000 households with an average number of 2.6 persons (amputees – ya just gotta love 'em…) per household.
By my primitive long division, incidentally, this makes for 2.73 persons per household – and reinforces my distrust of statistics. (I mean; what happened to the other fifteen million poor souls? Does a single-occupancy room in the Mogen-David Arms now constitute a "household"? If not, the combined population of several Baltic and Scandinavian countries has apparently fallen through the cracks, for the love of God! And that's just the tip of the iceberg.)
I'll try reconciling the claims of the chattering classes with available – and frequently contradictory -- stats in another post. How, for example, 43% of a 109,270,000 household country with a median income of $42K, a per-capita GDP of $37,610.00 and an average household size of 2.6 can avoid paying income taxes is incomprehensible.
Bear in mind that a median figure is the midpoint in a distribution of values, with equal values to either side. If, for example, we take Oprah Winfrey (we'll be very conservative and assume she makes $10,000,000.00 a year), a single real-life "Dilbert" at $42,000.00 a year, and ten thousand winos, each of whom panhandles a grand a year (presumably from Oprah and Dilbert), we conclude that median income is $42,000.00.
It's mathematically true, but not a reflection of the real economic situation. In actuality, we have one multimillionaire, one cubicle-bound Babbitt, and ten thousand chemically dependent "urban nomads" chipping into the post-Locke pot. This renders median figures every bit as misleading as mean figures (by the mean method, everyone winds up with roughly $2,000.00 -- thereby delighting pinkos who've never tried to live on $2,000.00 a year), and probably explains why statisticians love both.
"Figures don't lie, but liars figure," as the saying goes…
So I'll leave them to lie and figure to their hearts' content.
Mags and I have old-fashioned values (mine are downright Elizabethan…), above-average IQs, and a knack for handicraft, bartering and bargain hunting. Therefore, living on next-to-nothing is easier for us than for others. Being halfway decent people (well, my wife is, at any rate…), we actually pity the 43% of the population -- native and immigrant alike -- who make even less than we do. Who are we to deny their children an education – especially when they're living on less than $17,000 in metro Atlanta, in which a cheap apartment costs nearly ten grand a year?
Moving beyond Atlanta, 299,330,000 x 0.43 ≈ 128,700,000. 128,700,000 x .20 leaves us roughly 2,574,000 downtrodden rugrats – presumably of all colors and ethnicities -- to educate, nationwide. Among these, to reiterate, are the children of many of our Gastarbeiter. As it happens, many of them live right here in Roswell, and many of them no-speaka-da-Eenglish.
Granted, educating them will be expensive, but no more so than ladling out welfare and having them use emergency rooms as de facto clinics for the rest of their lives. And it'll certainly prove cheaper than "winning hearts and minds" abroad by plying every Iraqi and Afghan tot with copies of Daddy's Roommate and Free to Choose.
So much for mathematics and abstractions: when pink fairy and neocon troll alike stop spinning data to "prove" their own predetermined conclusions (and stop pissing on my leg whilst trying to tell me it's raining), I'll stop calling bullshit on them.
If the 43% figure North Fulton's "achievers" so love is correct; there are quite a few desperately poor, underachieving immigrants in our fair city - many of whom will do anything to ensure a better life for their children. Since Roswell, as a community, didn't mind spending its taxes on free health care for 'em in exchange for their "lowball" labor, it shouldn't mind educating their kids. Consider it an (admittedly shaky) investment in the future.
Given the IQ and income gaps (see IQ and the Wealth of Nations, by Richard Lynn and Tatu Vanhanen) between North Fulton's "Minions of Honk" and our rapidly multiplying immigrant community, the latter group of children will probably benefit more from contact with the former than vice versa – assuming that they assimilate. I don't think we'll approach economic or educational parity within the next few decades, though.
Heredity, culture and the demands of survival are unforgiving masters. Should the Gentle Reader doubt this, I'd invite him to study the survival/success story of the Ashkenazi Jews -- the most intelligent human beings on earth, as a whole. Legally barred from farming and similar occupations in much of Europe, many turned to education, finance and the arts and sciences -- with predictable results: survival of the smartest."
But the shtetl and the barrio are very different places. Separated by time, culture, geography and genetics, it's unlikely that they'll develop along parallel lines. Moreover, the "jobs Americans won't do" are largely menial, requiring little abstract intelligence. In all probability, we'll end up with yet another disenfranchised, unassimilated, permanent underclass. Said underclass is already here, as a matter of fact. And they aren't going anywhere. That particular horse has long since escaped, and it's much too late to close the barn door. Roswell's choice, then, is not whether the new underclass remains, but whether or not it remains unassimilated and permanent.
Exposing these children to the hard, cold world of intellectual competition would only benefit them – and us, in the long run. To restate an earlier point: The pool of cheap labor is here to stay. The "anchor babies" said pool produces are American citizens, and entitled to the same "rights" as the rest of us – even as their non-citizen parents are apparently entitled to certain social services, the "nickel and dime" nature of which prevented most North Fultonites from perceiving them until it was too late.
When they did, though, the HOA needed my Mexican-American wife and me to act against the children of the competition they had forced us to subsidize (broke as we are, we're still part of the 57% who pay taxes…). To say that the prospect neither inspired her to unprecedented levels o' hyphenated patriotism nor rocked my hairy, Scots-Irish balls is an understatement. Worse still, the shit-weasels wouldn't even admit that they'd fucked up, or that their addiction to ultra-cheap goods and services was part of the problem.
In a way, they reminded me of the tech-geeks who began pissing and moaning when their jobs were either outsourced to India or given to H-1-B Visa-holders. I'd have felt sorry for them – had I not heard so many of them smugly declare that blue-collar slobs facing a similar problem should just accept that we live in a changing world and find new lines of work. Needless to say, the attitude hardly warms my Grinchy li'l Hillbilly heart.
And neither does the HOA's. I have no patience with those who protest when their own oxen are gored, but don't give a shit for their neighbors'. To continue with the livestock metaphor, my oxen have been gored so often; they're long dead. The bitter irony is that I'm not the one who's been demolishing the fences in order to open the pasture to donkeys and other, less expensive beasts of burden. Therefore, I sure as hell ain't gonna help the erstwhile vandals rebuild 'em -- especially when they're only being built to keep Hispanic children out of "our" (the HOA's term, not mine) schools.
"Attend the final redistricting meeting to stand with us and voice your opinion. Wear a light blue shirt," read their flyer.
"Blue shirts," says I to m'ownself. "They were popular in Ireland a few decades ago, if memory serves me correctly." I then made a wisecrack about brown and black shirts to my wife. She laughed, and in the end, we did voice our opinion – by tossing the flyer into the trashcan (where such dross belongs) and going to the bar.
G'night.
